Depression

I am sick of lying here cold,
lifeless, and without hope.
I shiver, but refuse to grab a blanket.
I can’t move on my own-
I can’t move alone.

My heavy head barks orders at my body.
It doesn’t respond from the paralysis
despair has caused on the weak flesh that imprisons me.
My dry eyes do not produce tears
and my shattered heart doesn’t bleed one drop.

I just stare at the ceiling that seems to remain
unchanged as the floor spins around me.
I don’t trust my vanishing points anymore,
because everything is an illusion.
Reality only exists in my mind,
and my mind destroys me more everyday.
Reality is crushing me heartlessly,
screaming, “see you in hell.”
It is like an angry child, protected in a cloud of selfish innocence,
crushing an ant without second thoughts or remorse.

Reality is angry, but I fail to comfort it.
I look it in the eyes sympathetically.
I try to embrace it in my arms,
but it beats me mercilessly to the ground
breaking my bones and spirit in one,
because mind and body are merely
two dependent parts that die together.
I am broken and dead,
but still breathing.

I lie there cold,
lifeless, and without hope.
I shiver, but refuse to grab a blanket.
I can’t move on my own-
I can’t move alone.